


Misremembering The Alamo

by Raven (singlecrow)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Community: lgbtfest, Gen, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:31:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecrow/pseuds/Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezri, figuring stuff out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misremembering The Alamo

**Author's Note:**

> My lgbtfest story for 2010, in answer to this:
> 
>  _2942\. Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Ezri Dax, Ezri wasn't bisexual before being joined with the Dax symbiont, and now she has to adjust._

The first time Ezri Dax saw a woman, it was the blur of the surgeon leaving the room, a mere flutter of movement and curves, and it was nothing at all when seen against the collapse going on inside her head, and she soon forgot.

The second, third, fourth and fifth times Ezri Dax saw a woman, she thought: _help me; you're beautiful; whom do you have to screw to book passage around here; oh, hell._

In her quarters aboard Deep Space Nine, with the great sweep of stars revolving past the glass, she remembered Curzon addressing a hall of initiates, his voice filling the space with depth, resonance, certainty. _It's not like any of you had sex lives before, you're initiates._ A low buzz of laughter. _You were in the library. Think of it as a treat that awaits you on the joining._

Another initiate had written a formal open letter to the Commission to state, baldly, that the issue had deserved more than being fodder for off-colour humour. That sexuality was crucial, that mismatched joinings would fail. Jadzia had admired the letter; Curzon had dismissed it with little attention.

"It's not as though you didn't know it, either," Ezri said, to herself in the mirror; she wondered, with her therapist's eye, whether it was an attempt to make the two parts of herself separate, whether it was Dax talking to Ezri Tigan. "Sexuality varies between individuals. A symbiont is a blank space, it takes its sexual desire from its hosts. Ergo, any symbiont with more than one host acquires a plurality of desires."

She sat down, watched that swirl of stars for a while, and thought about joining Starfleet: the work, the family battles, the soaring feeling inside. The things she hadn't had time for, before.

Then she banged her head against the glass. It didn't help, but it made her feel a little better.

*

"I don't understand why it's a problem," Kira said, with, bless her, real confusion on her face. She was having her usual morning raktajino with the usual morning relish. Ezri had given up on trying it; she was drinking juice, made out of fruit that grew in hydroponics bays in New Sydney, where she was born.

"You don't understand why it's a problem?" Ezri said, levelly.

"No, I don't. You didn't like women before but you do now. So date women." Kira took another sip.

Ezri spread her palms. "Nerys, you... you like men, don't you?"

For the first time, Kira looked unsure. "I... think I do? I've only ever... but, Odo isn't. Um, I guess he doesn't have to..."

Ezri lifted a hand. "Catch me on duty for that one. I mean it, by the way. But if suddenly... something happened. Suddenly you thought differently, you wanted differently, something in your whole body was just... different."

Kira sipped her drink again. "Once, I woke up four months pregnant."

Ezri blinked. "Not quite like… maybe like that, I don't know. What was that like?"

"Strange."

Ezri nodded and tasted her juice. "Yeah. Like that."

*

Benjamin Sisko leaned into his pot, breathed in great clouds of cayenne pepper, and said, "I think that this is an entirely inappropriate thing to be discussing with your commanding officer. But it seems I am fated to be met with three incarnations of a symbiont that patently does not care what I think is appropriate."

"I'm sorry," Ezri said, rocking back on her heels. "I really am, but it's not as though I can go to the station's counsellor."

Sisko nodded. "That hasn't escaped me, Lieutenant."

"And with no other joined Trill on the station, you're..." Ezri hesitated. "In some ways, you're the only person who might know something about it. Sir."

"I don't suppose you'd consider talking to the Symbiosis Commission?" he said hopefully, and sighed. "No, point taken, old man. I have a clear and unhelpful image of how that conversation would go."

"I'm sorry," said Ezri again.

He waved a hand. "Try this."

She tasted it, and sneezed. "I'm sorry, I'm not good with pepper either."

He shook his head. "Remind me to take your culinary education well in hand."

Ezri nodded dutifully and sneezed again.

"I don't even know if I can help you," Sisko said, but mildly; from the look on his face he was thinking about spices. "I gave Jake a talk, you know. I didn't let you do it, even though you wanted to. I talked to him about how sexual attraction took many forms and he should always feel free to talk to me. It was a very good talk. I could give it to you, would that help?"

"I don't think so," Ezri said, doubtfully. "It's not like I've forgotten _how_." She sniffed at the stew, and this time it was better, filling her nose and throat with capsaicin tingles.

He was ladling out onto plates when he said, suddenly, "Jadzia had this problem, too."

"Did she?" Ezri asked, and tried hard not to sneeze.

He was looking at her strangely. "Don't you know?"

"I'm not trained to this!" Ezri wailed. "I don't know how to think, and how to remember, and how..."

"Try," he said, and gave her a big, cheerful grin. "Now eat."

She ate. It was good, and warmed her inside her bones.

*

Jadzia had loved women. She had loved a girl from the town she grew up in; they had had a gentle, summertime romance before all Jadzia's attentions moved to the strict initiate programme, and with reluctance, she had put all other concerns aside – but Jadzia remembered it with nothing but joy and quiet sweetness, like biting into fruit. Reading for her first degree, her lab partner had been a quiet, beautiful woman from the south continent, and Jadzia had loved her, too; they had spent nights together, working late, and walking home together hand in hand.

And between times there had been other women in other places – women with bright eyes, women with red hair and luscious curves, women who caught her attention, even for a moment, made her smile and remember, made her who she was.

Jadzia Dax had loved, too.

"Worf," Ezri said, and he turned to look at her, the emotion vanishing from his face.

"Yes, Lieutenant," he said, still as a statue in the hall of warriors.

"Jadzia loved you," Ezri said, speaking in a rush, "and no matter what happens now or in the future that will always be true."

She turned and walked away before he could say anything else.

*

"Lieutenant," said Quark after a while, "no one here objects to you sitting here as long as you want. But you do need to order something."

Ezri looked at him. "What's the stuff Chief O'Brien and Julian drink?"

"Scotch. But," – Quark was looking uncharacteristically flustered – "how about a nice synthale? Today's special is the Samarian Sunset, or you could have a nice Altarian brandy, or maybe even lemonade..."

Ezri was still looking at him. "Scotch."

"Scotch," Chief O'Brien agreed, spinning around on his barstool and walking around the bar. "Call it Dutch courage if it makes you feel better, Quark."

Quark said, "Humans!" and went to get the drink.

"Do I have to do this, Chief?" Ezri asked, a little desperately, taking a sip from it. It burned worse than the pepper had. She drank the rest of it and gave Quark another look. He scurried off to get another. "Do I really have to? I mean, I know I said... I said I wanted to, and I know I shouldn't be scared, but."

"Remember the Alamo!" O'Brien said, and grinned at Julian, who gave them a cheerful wave from the direction of the dartboard.

"Yeah, Chief," Ezri said, gloomily, "but you lose at the Alamo. You lose every time. Sometimes you snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. But you still lose."

"Yeah," O'Brien said, happily, "but here we go again!"

Julian threw his last dart. The board lit up, and he jogged around to join the Chief. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," Ezri said, knocked back the second tumbler and set off up the stairs to the second level. There was a woman sitting alone at a table above the dabo wheels, coming to the end of some sort of colourful cocktail – a Samarian Sunset, Ezri realised – and watching the tongo players cheering below.

"Hi," Ezri said. "My name is Ezri Dax."

The woman looked at her. She was Bajoran, with large blue eyes and cropped hair, and her earring caught and flashed the lights. "Hello, Ezri Dax."

"May I join you?"

After an interminable pause, she nodded. "All right."

Ezri sat down and stared fixedly at the drink. Its owner tapped it, and the clear liquid swirled with luminescent gold. "Are those your friends?" she asked, and pointed downwards. "By the bar?"

"Yes," said Ezri, shakily.

"Why do they have raccoons' tails on their heads?"

Ezri thought for a moment, feeling suddenly spacesick – the soaring feeling in her stomach, its cast of impending doom – and took a deep breath. "I could explain it," she said, "over dinner?"

The woman looked at her and smiled. "I'd like that."

Ezri grinned back. When they set off down the staircase, the woman reached for her hand, and she was aware of the spin of the station, a steady whirl between the stars.


End file.
